


Mistaken Identities

by Settiai



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossover, Gen, Mistaken Identity, One Shot, Set in Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14271573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Settiai/pseuds/Settiai
Summary: Two magic users with reddish hair, dirty clothes, and a fondness for cats come face to face.





	Mistaken Identities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [restfield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/restfield/gifts).



The decision to leave Tevinter hadn't been nearly difficult as Caleb had thought it would be. Then again, it hadn't been more than a passing consideration in the past, a stray thought from time to time that was immediately discarded. Why would he leave?

Caleb knew that he wouldn't have had the chance to move up to the upper echelons of society, not coming from a family of soporati who had intermarried with Nevarrans frequently over the years. Still, his magical abilities had been powerful enough that he'd always thought he could work his way upward if he kept trying.

But a lot of things had changed over the last few months.

The burn scars on his arms ached sometimes, a constant reminder of why he'd left in the first place. What he'd lost. What he'd _done_.

Still, he did his best to ignore them. It was easy enough, most of the time, considering the ache in his stomach usually outweighed them. Food might not have always been particularly appetizing back in Tevinter, but it had been plentiful. His magical abilities had guaranteed that much, at least.

That very much wasn't the same here in the south.

Caleb closed his eyes and breathed, offering up a prayer of thanks to a being that he didn't quite believe in as the Southern templars that had been chasing him rushed past his hiding place without even glancing in his direction. He still didn't know what had drawn their attention to him. He'd done his best to hide the fact that he was a mage ever since he'd left Tevinter, going so far as leaving his staff behind in a cave back in Starkhaven. It wasn't as if he really needed a staff to do the most basic spells, and... well, he wasn't particularly comfortable doing more advanced magic.

Not any longer.

Still, it made no sense. He'd known when he left the Imperium that he would have to be careful. It wasn't a secret that the mages and non-mages of the South were openly at war and had been for several years. He'd heard rumors and stories about it even before he'd left, and once he'd made it into the Free Marches the first thing he'd done was get his hands on as many books and pamphlets as possible explaining just what had led to the conflict. He had been careful as he had moved westward, making his way into Nevarra and then Orlais.

Or, at least, he'd thought that he had been careful. The fact that he'd just spent the better part of an hour running from templars, trying desperately to escape their surprisingly dogged pursuit, seemed to suggest otherwise. They'd began shouting at him out of nowhere back in the small town he'd been passing through, their thick accents making it difficult for him to understand just what they were saying. He'd thought that he'd heard them mention the Anderfels, but considering the circumstances, he hadn't waited to find out.

A twig snapped nearby.

Caleb's eyes snapped open, and he immediately held his breath. He'd thought that he had lost the templars, but maybe he was wrong. The way his life had been going the past year or so, it wouldn't surprise him in the least bit.

A foot or two behind him, someone chuckled. "I think they're gone."

Caleb spun around, flames licking his fingertips before he'd even realized that he'd called up his magic. Then he froze, his eyes going wide as he found himself staring at someone who bore more than a passing resemblance to himself.

The man's red-blond hair was tangled and dirty, hanging loosely around his face. It was perhaps a shade or two lighter than Caleb's own. His clothes were worn and filthy, a dark bruise around his right eye that was slowly fading to green. He looked almost as tired and as hungry as Caleb felt.

Most importantly, his hand was resting on a staff that was hanging loosely over his shoulder.

"Hey! There's no need to do anything hasty!" the man said, letting go of his staff and holding his hands up in what Caleb thought was supposed to be a placating manner. Like he was trying to convince him that he wasn't a threat.

Caleb knew damn well that it didn't take a staff for a mage to be dangerous, but his options were somewhat limited. It wasn't as if he was going to set the man aflame.

Still eyeing the other man warily, Caleb let the flames licking at his hand fade away.

"That's better," the man said. There was a flicker of blue in his eyes for just a moment, almost like a spark. Then they were back to a normal-looking brown. "We're clearly both mages. There's no reason for us to be fighting, not when those bloody templars are still trying to find—"

The man cut off abruptly, an almost sheepish expression appearing on his face.

Caleb tilted his head. "They were looking for you," he said. It made sense. He hadn't done anything to draw the templars' attention, but they'd noticed him immediately. "They thought I was you."

If anything, the man looked even more sheepish. "Yes, well, things happen." He coughed and awkwardly cleared his throat. "That's an interesting accent that you have there. Nevarran? But there's something else mixed in. It sounds almost like—"

The bag that Caleb had hanging at his side decided at that moment it was a good time to let out a "meow." Caleb grimaced.

The man cut off abruptly, his eyes going wide. "Is that a cat?" he asked. "That sounded like a cat. Do you have a _cat_?"

Caleb brought his hand down to rest on the top of the back, opening the top of it enough that Frumpkin could poke his head out. He didn't take his gaze off of the man, who was staring at his cat with wide eyes just then.

In the distance, there was shouting.

The man's attention snapped in that direction. "Come on," he said, reaching out to touch Caleb's arm. It took everything Caleb had not to pull away. "I have a camp set up in a nearby cave. I think we need to get out of the open." 

Caleb clenched his fist, focusing on not letting flames start flickering around his hand again. There was another shout somewhere in the direction the templars had been heading, this one still indistinct but sounding a bit closer.

He reluctantly nodded.

The man grinned at him. It didn't quite fit his face, as if he hadn't had a chance to practice the expression in quite some time. "Good," he said. "Let's go."

*

As camps went, it was better than most of the ones Caleb had made for himself since leaving Tevinter. The other mage, whose name he still didn't know, had a variety of supplies. Most of them were well-worn, but they'd clearly been expensively made originally and had lasted better than most.

There was even food, albeit dried meat that was getting old enough that chewing on pure leather might have been easier on their teeth. Caleb was well aware that beggars couldn't be choosers, so he quietly took what was offered to him without a word of complaint.

Frumpkin wasn't quite as quiet with his displeasure. As soon as Caleb took his eyes off of him for more than a second, he disappeared for half an hour before returning looking much more satiated.

"So," the man said suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Do you have a name?"

Caleb glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "Do you?"

The man flushed slightly. "I asked you first."

At that, Caleb's other eyebrow rose to match the first one. Then he shrugged. It wasn't as if there was anyone outside the Imperium who would recognize his name, and he suspected there wasn't a person there who would care much even if it did ring a bell. Not now. "Caleb," he said. "Caleb Widogast."

"Nice to meet you, Caleb Widogast," the man said. He paused for a second, his hesitation noticeable, before he took in a shaky breath. That flicker of blue was in his eyes again. "You can call me Anders."

It took Caleb approximately half a second to recognize that name. _Tale of the Champion_ had been one of the first books he'd gotten his hands on once he'd crossed the border.

"Anders," he repeated. " _The_ Anders?"

The man – _Anders_ – grimaced. "Yes?" he said. It sounded almost like a question.

Not for the first time over the past few hours, Caleb didn't quite know what to say. He finally went with a dark chuckle. "Well," he said, "I see why the templars were so determined to catch me, if they thought I was you."

Anders gave him a somewhat sheepish smile. "Sorry about that," he said. "I passed through the town a few days ago, and I think there might have been a refugee from Kirkwall who recognized me."

Caleb gave a half-hearted shrug before taking another bite of his dried meat. "I have had worse," he said.

Anders shot him a knowing look. "In Tevinter?"

Caleb stopped chewing. Then, very pointedly, he went back to it long enough to swallow the food already in his mouth. "You recognized the accent, then?"

"I've heard it a lot over the years," Anders said, giving him a weak smile that didn't even remotely reach his eyes. "The Navarran's stronger. The Tevinter only comes in from time to time."

He was clearly fishing for more information. Caleb wasn't particularly willing to share, though, not with someone he'd known for an entirety of two hours. Especially considering that person might possibly be the most wanted man in all of Thedas.

Caleb didn't have any particular love for the Chantry, but he did care rather strongly when it came to protecting himself. And staying anywhere near this man, this _Anders_ , longer than he had to was not going to help keep him alive.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Anders asked.

Caleb snorted. "You seem to be doing more than enough talking for both of us."

Anders opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

The corners of Caleb's mouth turned up, just slightly. Then he glanced over at Frumpkin, who was making himself at home on top of a small, thin blanket. He whistled, a sharp sound that still managed to stay quiet, and Frumpkin's head shot up.

Then, without a sound, the cat trotted over to Anders and curled up in his lap.

Anders didn't move for a long moment. Then he reached down to stroke Frumpkin's back with a gentleness that surprised even Caleb, looking for all the world as if he was trying to hold back tears.

"We will go our separate ways in the morning," Caleb said, looking down at his hands. He wasn't entirely certain if it was because he was uncomfortable meeting the other man's gaze or if he was trying to give him some privacy. Maybe it was a little of both. "It will be safer that way."

There wasn't a reply for several seconds. Then Anders sighed. "Of course," he said. "Since the templars are apparently blind enough to think anyone with a passing resemblance to me is dangerous, I can't blame you for getting as far away as possible."

Caleb nodded. Then he paused, carefully considering his next words. He'd heard many stories about the man sitting across from him, some calling him a villain while others placed him in the role of hero. He suspected the truth was somewhere in the middle. It often was, in such cases.

"I could show you some magic that I know," he said slowly. He looked up, meeting the man's gaze. "Before I leave. It might help you."

Anders looked over at him, a hint of curiosity on his face. "What did you have in mind?"

Caleb closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the image of the man who'd let him stay in the stable at his tavern several weeks earlier. He felt the magic roll over his body like a wave, and he could tell by the sharp intake of breath across from him when the spell took hold.

He opened his eyes to find Anders gaping at him, his hand hovering over Frumpkin's back.

"You can change your appearance?" Anders asked, sounding shocked.

Caleb nodded. "For short periods of time," he said. "It takes a lot of mana. I wouldn't try for longer than an hour."

Anders's mouth twisted into a smile, and for the first time since Caleb had met him it seemed almost genuine. "I wouldn't have to hide," he said softly. "Not all the time, at least. I could— I mean, that would be—"

He trailed off, looking like he didn't know what else to say. Or perhaps how to say it. His hand dropped back down to stroke at Frumpkin's back again.

Caleb wasn't good with people. It had never been one of his strengths, and he doubted it ever would be. It would take a special type of person to be willing to put up with him for more than a short period of time. He'd been on his own since he'd left the Imperium, and he suspected that he would remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Still, while he wasn't good with talking to people, he could read them. Almost as easily as he read books. And he knew exactly what Anders was trying to say, even if the other man couldn't find the words any easier than Caleb usually could. Something else they had in common, perhaps, besides their appearance, and their magic, and apparently their love of cats.

"You're welcome," Caleb said quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over on Tumblr. (http://settiai.tumblr.com/)


End file.
